


Take the Bait

by fetts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Choking, Cockwarming, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, F/M, Hair-pulling, Hints of Dub-Con/Implied Consent is Given, Mild Violence/Canon-typical Violence, Power Play, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Slight Hand-job, Spitroasting, Threesome - F/M/M, Verbal teasing, authority kink, degradation/humiliation, fem!reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28257030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fetts/pseuds/fetts
Summary: Nothing good ever comes from a rebel marksman, a trap, ten-thousand credits, deception, and bounty hunters.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Reader, Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 169





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the warnings and let me know if I missed any - this content is definitely not for everyone. Reader discretion is advised!

The vast dunes of Tatooine turn cold at this time of night - the dead of night.

The sand is soft as you bury your fingertips underneath it, gazing at the pale moons and stars above as you rest comfortably on your back. Your right hand lies over your IQA-11 rifle beside you - at this point, it’s the only thing you can trust.

Tatooine isn’t exactly ideal; a bounty hunter resides close by - waiting. But it’s safer than Coruscant or Naboo - less people to recognize you, more space to be reclusive.

The chase seems never-ending; no matter what planet you’re on, what system you’re in, or what disguise you’re wearing. He always seems to find you no matter what. You guess that’s the price you have to pay for killing a high-ranking Imperial officer; you’re third one at that. Orders are orders, but you also know his reputation - and you expected nothing less.

***

This is the longest you’ve been able to stay in one place. Three days. Transportation to get off this planet is in town; the hunter has made it so you’ll have to pay him a little visit first, but you know you won’t make it.

You roll onto your stomach, gripping your rifle and swinging it over to settle on the peak of the dune for the fourth routine check in the past hour; you don’t want him to have you unsuspecting. 

Peering through the scope, the crimson-tinted night is static; fuzzy and quiet. Focusing your eye on the streets in town, you notice him lingering around Mos Eisley, as expected, but there’s someone else with him this time. You pull your head away, squinting at the unfiltered darkness to ensure your scope doesn’t deceive you - it never does.

There’s another Mandalorian; another hunter that’s after the price on your head, too. But one thing is off: bounty hunters never interact on the job. A distraction could cost them everything - this is out of character…for both of them. 

Their hands and arms gesture and wave as they talk, heads shaking as if in disagreement. The moonlight glimmers and reflects off of their beskar with each movement.

It’s everyone for themselves in this line of work; they’re greedy, and wouldn’t risk having to split the large reward if they knew a bounty was in range - they want full price, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill whoever gets in their way in order to get just that.

“What?—” You sit up on your knees, confused and curious. They could be planning to lure you. You wouldn’t be surprised. Both have been rather unsuccessful in acquiring you thus far. 

Your thoughts go back and forth in your head - do I go down, or do I stay here where it’s safe? If it is a trap, fate has caught up to you. They’ve been too fun to kill just yet, and this is your consequence. 

The scene before you is all too intriguing, and you think that’s the point. Of course they should know you’re close by - watching; observing the alarming scene through your scope. You know exactly what they’re doing, and it’s angering.

Whatever this is, it had your curiosity, but now it has your attention. You know you’re not the only bounty here, but you’re worth the most credits - dead or alive, and you know they wouldn’t go for someone else when you’re so close.  
They’re here for you and you only; and you know they won’t leave until they secure the quarry. They’ve been chasing for far too long to let you go now.

You figure you should take the risk. The worst that could happen is you’d have kill a few more hunters that don’t know when to give up…unless they kill you first.

You sling your rifle over your shoulder, hesitantly standing to your feet. You sink into the sand a few inches, and repetitively step one foot in front of the other, gliding down the slope of the dune and towards the deserted spaceport - towards Mos Eisley.

***

You slowly approach the muted, round structures outlining the border of town, rifle in hand, footsteps light. As you near closer to the entrance of the cantina - the main gathering spot for all scum and villainy on the planet, you notice the silence. They know you’re coming, you know that; the place has probably already been cleared respectively. Their presence’s alone would empty the building. 

You stick in the darkness, watching every flickering shadow; hoping that you’re right about their supposed plan. You’ve never been wrong before, but anything can happen.

You’re expertise is long-range sharpshooting, not hand-to-hand combat; if you get caught, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You quickly duck into the cantina opening, rifle aimed at nothing but an empty bar and vacant booths. You sigh and lower your weapon as you take a few experimental steps deeper inside. The first mistake. 

It’s almost pitch black as you move closer towards the various doors and rooms along the walls. The second mistake. It’s unlikely that they’re not not here - they are, you just need the vantage point, and you might’ve just missed out on it.

You approach the first door, just off to the right of the bar, and reach for the keypad. You hit the ‘open’ symbol, and the door whooshes to the side. The third mistake. Your heart races and pounds against your expanding ribcage. 

You’re met with nothing. A storage room. You don’t have a chance to even take in what’s in front of you; a hand harshly fists itself into your hood and violently yanks you back, snapping your neck forward; the door slams shut as the momentum rips your hands from your rifle.

Your tailbone hits the duracrete first, then your elbows as you catch your weight. Pain shoots through your joints, and your eyes snap themselves shut on instinct, bracing for more contact that never comes. You let yourself go limp with discomfort against the floor, surrendering yourself as the assailant slowly circles around your splayed body in the dim light.

As the footsteps become more pronounced as they near closer, the spurs are what give him away. The light jangle and clink - something you’re too familiar with by now.

“You’re getting sloppy,” he states, his tone almost mocking, pleased with himself. You open your eyes, displeased. 

The visor that stares back is unnerving; the light reflecting off of it gives off more intimidation than you’re used to. You roll your eyes and take a deep breath. 

“And you’re getting tiresome, Boba.” You grumble. He lets out a breathy laugh as you slowly push yourself up to your feet, eyes burning holes through his tattered, green beskar as you try your best to size him up - he still looms over you with his presence alone. 

“I’d prefer to take you alive,” he cocks his head, helmet following your swaying movements. “All of this wouldn’t have been worth it if I kill you,” he motions at you with his hand. It lightly catches on the front of your shirt, pulling it away from your stomach briefly. ‘All of this’ meaning the lengthy hunt you’ve been keeping him on.

“There are plenty of other bounties out there—”

“A job is a job. No one has ten-thousand Imperial credits on their head,” his voice filled with irritation, leaving no room for you to reason with your current predicament.

He steps closer, you step back; your neck strains as you’re forced to look up at him. “The longer you fight, the higher your bounty. I’m not here to negotiate, I’m here to collect.” He explains, almost scolding you like a child as he saunters nearer.

He’s been the only consistent hunter that’s been tracking you; all others have either been killed or ordered to abandon, besides his friend as it seems. You’ve occasionally decided to let him have a little taste of victory; letting him come just a little too close, before you pull away, leaving him with nothing but hurt pride as you disappear to another system.

But, before you were a criminal of the Empire, you knew of each other. Nothing more than a few words exchanged…and maybe a few impersonal intimacies shared on occasion. 

That was about a year ago - it was nothing complicated, purely for ridding tension. 

He keeps taking deliberate steps forward, spurs tinkling from the movement; it’s assertive - you shuffle back frantically, heart pounding with uncertainty as your back bumps against the jagged wall. 

“What’s the other guy’s role in this? You’re clearly not the only one that’s this close right now,” You rush out, trying to provoke him with a mocking nod of your head. The words come out fast, an unfortunate thing that happens when you’re fearful. 

You just gave yourself away, and he definitely notices whether you can tell or not.

“You mean the other Mandalorian?” He brings his helmet closer, sounding amused. He knows what you’re implying. You can feel the heat coming off him - it’s strangely comforting for a split second as your hands tremble in the frigid air.

He slowly brings a gloved hand up beside your head, resting it against the wall as he leans on it, bending down just a little closer before he speaks.

“We’ve worked something out. He wouldn’t stand a chance if I didn’t agree to a allyship,” he confesses and you roll your eyes again, shaking your head at his incurable arrogance. 

You feel like a pawn in his game; and you don’t even know what the game is.

He huffs; visor trailing down from your eyes to your boots. You follow his movements - almost transfixed by the smooth motion. From this perspective, you forget that he’s here to collect you and not—

“I don’t think you could take him,” you blurt out, challenging his claim. You know he probably could, but you want out of this situation. You also know his ego can’t handle any emasculating assumptions; especially from you - who once told him that no one could fuck you like he does.

You’d say anything right now to get out of this.

His helmet snaps back up to meet your eyes at an alarming speed, making you flinch. It evokes a ‘what did you just say?’ even though he says nothing; his body language gives him away this time. What he’s portraying is more than just wanting to put you in a pair of binders. He either wants to kill you, or—

“Yeah? I don’t think you could either,” he shakes his head with an irritated chuckle, pulling his helmet back the slightest as if to focus on you better. The entirety of him is completely domineering compared to your armourless figure. 

Your lips part in an attempt to say something - it sounds like he’s talking about something other than combat.

You shrug instead. “You know you’re not the only Mandalorian I know, right?” You state with a tight-lipped smile, unable to control the pride swelling in your chest. You doubt they would have been enticed to share their history with each other, and that makes your body warm at his unawareness. He couldn’t have thought he was the only one. 

This journey has been tiring and frustrating for all involved, and you may or may not have entertained his new partner at some point during this entire fiasco…accidentally. To be fair, you didn’t know he was tracking you, and you definitely didn’t know he was not supposed to be fucking you for two days straight.

“Do you really know who you’re doing business with?” You cross your arms over your chest, a knowing smirk crosses your lips. Conflict of interest has never been a problem for him until now. 

He says nothing - characteristic. You can only stare back at the menacing visor for so long before you start feeling uneasy from the silence that accompanies it. He omits rage through forged beskar, and you feel as though he won’t be so lenient with potentially letting you go.

He lets his hand fall from the wall and back to his side. “I don’t think he would like to be kept waiting,” he’s not suggesting you get your ass moving, he’s demanding you do. 

You know he wants to keep going, see how far you’re willing to push your luck; this isn’t the first time you’ve vexed him to the point of ambiguous frustration. If he’s actually feeling that, you can’t tell. You’ve come to learn that his cod-piece conceals a lot.

Your glare is deadly. He tips his head back in annoyance before he grabs you by the bicep, pulling you from the wall with ferocity. Your arms are twisted behind your back, binders securely fastened around your wrists. 

He’s done this too many times, and not just on you.

He wraps a firm hand around your elbow and guides you through the entrance you came in - both of you equally simmering in rage.

***

As you leave town and trudge over the dune that protects the border, a foreign yet familiar ship comes into view, almost blue under the moonlight.

“What does he want?” Your voice holds no real emotion, no curiosity, just a flat pitch; fearing your possible impending doom.

His grip tightens slightly, “Your intel.” He states simply. No credits? Doesn’t sound like a very fair deal; but there’s not much you can expect to get when making a deal with Boba - he’s selfish, and that’s why you were intrigued by him in the first place.

“He came to me and we worked out a deal. He gets the information he wants, and I get the credits.” He explains further, seemingly disinterested in the topic. 

You don’t know what kind of intel he could possibly want; you’re not a spy, and you know he’s with the Guild. That means, ‘no questions asked’ - about anything, or to anyone.

The rest of the walk is silent; the only sound being the sharp jangle of his spurs. You’re angry at yourself. He’s irritated with you.

As you approach the ship, you notice him waiting at the top of the ramp of the cargo hold, leaning against the frame with his hands crossed in front of him. His chrome beskar sparkles from the brightness of the stars.

You take a deep breath, a small smile makes its way across your face when you are forced to a stop at the ramp. Boba lets go of your arm, the skin burns at the much needed release. 

“Don’t move.” It’s a threat. His shoulder harshly collides with yours as he passes, hiking up the incline towards your mutual friend. 

You can’t hear what they’re saying; the wind whips in your ears, and the sand hits your face. You turn away in discomfort.

Footsteps loudly descend back down the ramp. A chrome cuirass stops in front of you; you lift your gaze. “Long time no see, Mando,” you feign a pleased smile. His head tilts, expressing an unimpressed ‘really?’. 

“Save it, Sparky. Let’s go.” He grumbles and grabs your arm as Boba did, dragging you up the ramp and inside of the ship. Boba’s already waiting, leaning against a stack of crates; arms crossed and visor low as he watches the nameless Mandalorian man-handle you. It irks him in a way that it shouldn’t.

“Make it quick. I don’t have all night.” He demands as you pass him without a thought; Mando doesn’t quip anything back as he pulls you along and into an almost completely empty room. It’s dark, and rather spacious for the size of his ship. 

You walk out of his grip as he turns to close the door, stepping towards the small, flat cot in the corner - it seems less and less comfortable the more you stare at it. 

You remember laying on it - it wasn’t so bad. To be fair, you couldn’t really focus on the comfortability too much when your knees were pushed up to your shoulders; a soft leather glove wrapped tightly around your throat as he fucked you to tears - making you cum around him for the third time that night.

You know he remembers. How could he forget? 

A hand wrapping around your forearm makes you jump as you’re pulled from your thoughts. He releases the binders from your wrists, tossing them on the floor.

You turn around, lifting your head to meet the menacing metallic gaze. “What do you want?” It holds no aggression - it’s soft, defeated. The blank stare the helmet gives you makes a chill run down your spine.

“To talk. Sit down,” he nods at the cot behind you, voice hoarse and cracking through the unused vocoder. He’s not asking, he’s demanding - something Mandalorian’s seem to have in common.

You shake your head, confused. “I don’t have intel about anything—”

“Yes, you do. Now, sit,” he emphasizes with another tilt of his head, studying your face as it scrunches in apprehension. You sigh and plop on the bedding, pulling your legs against your chest.

He doesn’t sit, he kneels; resting an arm on his knee and unintentionally intimidating you even more. His cape rustles and his boots creak under the weight.

“I have some questions for you first, Mando,” you raise a finger, stopping him before he could get a word in. He opens his hand, encouraging you to continue.

“What’s really going on? Either you lied about needing intel because I know for a fact that you don’t, or you’re just stupid enough to take a shitty deal. I don’t know what you told him, but he—”

“Do you think he’s better?” Your next words catch in your throat as your mouth snaps shut. He startles you from your rant; his tone is serious, but the much needed context is lacking, leaving you muddled in your questions.

You squint at him, exceedingly caught off guard. “I…I don’t know what you mean—” You furrow your brows, confused at the sudden change in topic. You can already tell he’s holding something back - waiting for you to ask.

He sways his head gently, pretending to be in thought. “I think you do,” you can hear the smile in his voice as he points a finger at you accusingly; shifting on his knee. The gesture exuding an alarming amount of hubris.

You try to think of something to say - to ask, but no questions seem adequate. He cuts off your perplexity with much needed leniency instead.

“Can he fuck you better?” There it is. It’s jarring. He says it sternly, but almost laughs at your obvious easiness and astonishment. You stare dumbfounded at him; he tilts his helmet as he leans closer, inviting you to answer.

“Can he make you beg and shake like I do…” He continues, almost hesitant, but it’s all for show - part of the act. 

One word could determine your fate. Your mind is screaming at you, telling you not to answer, telling you to lie…but you know he would notice. 

You try to compose yourself, pausing a little longer than necessary before indulging him. 

“Yes,” you nod your head, lips turning up into a dangerous smile you can’t hide; the mischievous glint in your eyes makes him tense. 

That wasn’t the answer he wanted. Was that the ‘intel’ he needed?

The hand resting on his knee turns to a loose fist. “I don’t doubt that,” he says reluctantly. He sighs - short and deep, agitated. 

He shakes his head as he leans back on his leg, his disappointment pours through the helmet. You follow his movements, interested in his thoughts.

“Do I need to remind you, sweet girl?” It comes out wicked and desperate. You let out a quiet exhale at the name; you remember him repeating it to you over and over as he fucked you with such brutality that you soaked the very cot you’re sitting on.

You shake your head lightly, eyes wide with concern. “N-no. We can’t—” It’s a hoarse whisper. Your eyes flick to the door - Boba gave you a warning, ‘Make it quick’. 

You know him - this wouldn’t be quick. The embarrassment you would feel if you were caught would never leave your body.

“You never had a problem saying yes to me before,” he leans forward again, fascinated at your sudden defiance. You’re so close, so close that you can hear his quiet, uneven breaths. When did he get this close?

A soft, gloved finger curls up under your chin. He holds it there while the rough pad of his thumb tickles your skin as he drags it along your bottom lip. The action brings your head forward, pulling you to him.

Your body defies your mind - your tongue slips out to lick the worn leather as your eyes hold a fierce stare with his visor. You generously wet the earthy material against your will.

“You seem rather enthusiastic. Don’t try to trick yourself.” He coos, voice hushed and deep as he swipes his thumb over your lip, coating it with your spit.

There’s a dazed look in your eyes - as if you were possessed by a Jedi mind-trick, being able to focus on nothing but your reflection in his helmet and the way the burning ache between your thighs is growing stronger.

Sentences become more jumbled in your brain as he continues his teasing - you don’t notice how his unoccupied hand has made it to your knee, pushing it away from where it’s pressed against your chest.

The hand slides down the inside of your thigh, gliding closer to the point of no return - he holds you open. He’s got you primed; ready for anything he’s willing to offer.

He pulls his hand away from your mouth slowly, watching how you chase it, not wanting to stop just yet. He chuckles lowly at your desperation.

“So needy,” he says breathlessly as he moves the hand across your jaw and down the column of your throat. It stops just above your breasts, and he applies more pressure on your thigh at the same time, spreading you further.

He pushes firmly on your chest. “Lay back.” Your back thumps against the cot, your breathing staggered as you watch him all but stalk his way overtop you - akin to a predator claiming its prey; going in for the kill. 

He looms over you, trapping your quivering figure with his brooding presence more than his body. His grip has never left your thigh, keeping it open as he brings careful fingers to the knot keeping your pants on securely - but he wants them off. 

He delicately loosens the bow and the other hand reluctantly slides up to your waist to join the other.

The squeeze he gives your hips makes you gasp and lift them reflexively - the ease in which he rips your pants and underwear down your legs makes goosebumps rise over the skin.

He rests back on his haunches; you haven’t noticed how your legs have fallen open, leaving you to be observed at his mercy. You lift your head, your eyes locking in a provoking stare with his visor as his fingers reach for the strap of his pants; his sizeable cock evidently longing for you underneath.

He looks dangerous in the low light as he smoothly undoes the ties; it doesn’t help that there’s added uneasiness from having an impatient hunter mere feet from you, getting less patient by the second. 

Your mind zones out; thinking about how bad of an idea this is, and you almost miss what Mando says. You refocus on him; he’s blanketing your body, bracing on his arms - his heavy, bare cock rests on your inner thigh, wet with a drop of precum - attentive.

“Don’t think about him,” he whispers. It’s meant to comfort you, but somehow it sounds like it holds another meaning. You nod, and he gently lowers his helmet to rest against your forehead - a kiss.

“Good girl—” He praises your compliance. 

The last time you didn’t listen, you were bound to the wall of his ship, forced to take his cock down your throat as he held your head, not showing mercy until you were either crying out an apology or he came - and his cum happened to fill your mouth before any words could.

He pulls an arm away, reaching down to guide himself to your wet, inviting cunt. As he pushes against you, your hands fly to his shoulders, fisting his cowl - bringing him closer. His cold cuirass makes contact with your covered chest. 

The helmets gaze never falters - it’s undaunted. Its continuous study of you makes a wave of heat roll through your stomach and down to your aching core - waiting to be filled.

The pressure of his cock prodding against your centre makes your back arch, a wanting gasp slips past your lips as Mando splits you open slowly. He fights against your tight walls, how they refuse and welcome him at the same time.

A deep sigh leaves your lungs. “O-oh- fuck—” The deeper he pushes, the more you forget about Boba waiting just outside - the first mistake.

The visor breaks away from the heavy stare it held with your dazed eyes; it looks down to where your bodies are searing with desire. He watches himself sink into you, how more juices leak out of your swollen cunt the deeper he goes. A strained growl leaves his throat when his hips meet your thighs.

He lets out a breath and looks back up at you, resisting the instinct to pound into your warmth; instead opting for little pushes of his hips, canting them forward but never pulling out - making sure no part of him is untouched. You’re moved further up the cot from the light thrusts, letting him reach his end.

Your eyes roll back, a whimper escapes your tight throat; high-pitched and a little louder than needed - the second mistake.

His hips still instantly, pressing up against you tightly, filling your weeping cunt to the hilt. His right hand rushes to cover your mouth; his palm muffles your cries, and they turn into quiet mewls. 

You blink up at him, seeing how his shoulders rise and fall with heavy, controlling breaths; trying to ground himself while managing your feral noises.

“Be quiet,” he hisses through his teeth. His thumb pushes under your chin as it holds your jaw shut. You nod your head up and down, offering pleading eyes. He mimics the movement slowly, ensuring you understand.

The leather rests securely over your lips, he draws his hips back slowly, watching for any disobedience. 

When he pulls all the way out, only the head of his cock being gripped snuggly by your aching walls, your whines have dropped to a dull humming - you want to be good, you want to be fucked. 

You clench around his head, trying to provoke him, trying to pull him deeper; the hand over your mouth slips to your throat and squeezes tight under your jaw. His fingers constrict around your windpipe, making you huff and quiver.

He lets out an airy laugh. “Yeah…I knew you wanted this.” He gives a sharp thrust, rocking against you roughly. It sends a jolt through your body; it hits somewhere only he and someone else have been able to reach. Your eyes close as a pathetic whine is pulled from your throat.

He squeezes harder around your neck; and lets his cock stay seated inside you…again. 

“Make another sound, and I stop. Understand?” His tone is borderline threatening, making you flutter around him with excitement. He wouldn’t dare—

You bite your lip harshly, vigorously nodding this time. He tips his helmet, seeming unconvinced, but starts fucking into you softly anyway. You know he’s holding back on purpose, to tease you, to make you beg for more - to hear you answer the question he first asked out of spite: Can he fuck you better?

Your face holds visible frustration as he continues his unusually tame pushes. He’s capable of so much more - with the end result usually being your body rejecting his skillful length altogether.

You bring your legs farther up his sides, making him plunge in more than he intended; the angle making the beskar cuisse’s on his thighs collide with the back of yours. A stinging sensation erupts over the skin, the sound of the hardened metal hitting your soft flesh covers the tight squeaks from your mouth. 

You hook your knees and ankles over his hips, trying to pull him forward and quicken this agonizing pace. It’s not soft, but it’s not rough…not unforgiving. It’s just—

It’s enough for you to feel something, but not enough for it to amount to anything.

He keeps the torturous rhythm steady, visor fixated on your increasingly agitated expression. He’s able to move in and out with little effort; your cunt squelching with each controlled thrust in, and each quick pull back out. His cock takes up all the space inside you, leaving no part of you or him untouched; you just want more. More, passion, more vigour, more fucking. 

“If you don’t fuck me like you mean it, Mando, I swear—,” you quip. The judgement comes out choppy, each word interrupted by the jerking motion of him colliding his groin against your pussy.

He doesn’t slow as he answers you. “What would you do exactly, hm?” His voice never wavering, never shows that fucking you is affecting him in the slightest - other than his obviously hard cock inside you, throbbing with arousal. 

You would do absolutely nothing. And he knows that, so you don’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” he concludes firmly. 

His hand tightens around your vulnerable neck again, but it doesn’t stop - forcing your jaw to slacken in an attempt to draw in air. You smile wider the harder he goes - amused. Smug that he’s teetering on the edge of fucking you like he should be. He just needs one more good push— 

“I think you’ve gone soft, Mando—” The third mistake. A strong, precise snap of his hips instantly washes your thoughts away; and then there’s another, and another, and this time he doesn’t stop. Your breath is knocked away, leaving your body stunned.

His erratic movements slap harshly against your thighs, moving your legs up, up, up— and then the hand rips away from your throat, grabbing your left calf and bringing it over his shoulder, driving into you so hard that your head almost hits the wall from the force.

Your head instantly lolls back, your back arching in an attempt to maintain the burning hot wave of stimulation your cunt desperately craved. Your legs start tingling, the muscles contracting each time his cock reaches its end in your swollen cunt. 

“Is this soft enough for you? Ungrateful brat,” he whispers the last part, almost growling in annoyance. 

You choke out a broken cry from the way his cock finally buries itself deep in your needy walls - instantly running past the spot that makes you see white every time. The back of your thigh now connects with his cuirass, your leg stretching farther with each aggressive shove into your slick cunt. 

Your teeth bite painfully into your cheek, trying not to cry out. All you can feel is blissful pressure. Your clit throbs from both neglect and his pelvis pushing against it with each violent shove into you - your juices spreading over the expanse of your blushed cunt with every withdraw. 

“Yes— f-fuck…Mando,” you whine his name, your fingers claw themselves deeper into his cowl. 

His breathing has turned into deep huffs; his visor has been trained on you the entire time, but you don’t know his eyes are closed behind it. A particularly favourable nudge from his swollen cock makes you clench and keen for him. 

He lets out a pathetic groan when he feels your core release a warm coat of arousal around him. Your whimpers and moans have grown into mindless pants and pitiful cries.

“Does it feel as good as you remember?” He asks bravely. He hooks his thumb under your knee, emphasizing the heavy question with a push of your leg, bending it farther towards you; fucking you with the power you knew he had. 

You have the answer in your head, but it doesn’t slip out - you’re unable to respond in any way besides the continuous flow of wetness that surrounds his gratuitous cock. A tingling sensation slowly spreads outwards across your body from where he fucks into you repetitively.

His helmet turns down to your stretched cunt again, entranced by the way you easily swallow his sizeable girth. He lets out a sinister, breathy laugh at the obscene sight.

“Because I think it feels even better…don’t you?” He taunts, voice winded and full of static. That’s enough for your senses to come back; glossy eyes roaming along the dark slits inches from you.

You give him an innocent smile, small and embellished; the action not suiting the sinful situation. “Oh-h, yes. Yes, I-I remember…” You start, breathless and giddy. 

“Did you have green beskar back then?” The sarcasm and mockery in your tone does not slip past him. It hits him deep in his stomach - and not in a good way.

“Or am I thinking of someone else?” You raise a brow and purse your lips, toying with his ego - his need to be on top of the ranks. 

He grunts, from both anger and his approaching orgasm. “Very funny, Sparky.” You let out a little laugh, entertained. To him it was, in fact, not funny.

But then he shoves your leg from his shoulder. Your other leg falls from his hip as he brings himself to his knees, now gently rocking into you. His one hand viciously grips your hip while the others snakes under your back.

He’s bent over you, and you feel the hand on your spine push up, lifting you from the cot. His pace halts, both of the fires burning hot inside you cool off, but he never leaves the velvet surroundings of your cunt.

Mando shifts you into his lap as he sits straight; you cling to his shoulders as he releases his hold, letting you sink fully back onto his plentiful cock. A quiet hiss slithers through your teeth as you take him back into your irresistible slick.

All movement has stopped once your thighs rest against his beskar. You sit atop him, panting, desperate, full. You stare into the dark void of his visor, his hands slide up to your hips, grabbing and kneading the soft flesh.

Your eyes search his helmet, but of course there’s no answer. You’re unsure; unsure of what he wants, besides the obvious.

“Hesitant to say I fuck you good? Then make yourself cum on me…just like what I made you do in the cockpit,” he demands calmly. “Then we’ll see if your answer stays the same,” your fingers twist harder into his cowl with every word. 

His casual and gentle tone scares you. What you did in the cockpit— was barely achievable that time - an accident at most. You roll your eyes and shake your head, a throaty chuckle rumbles through you quietly as you recall the experience. 

“Is that the intel you needed? You just wanted to know if I thought you fucked me good? Better than him?” You ask, almost in disbelief that he would go through all this trouble for a simple ‘yes’ - or ‘no’.

He cock his head, “Is that so wrong?” He gives your hips a firm squeeze. You hum, thinking on the rebuttal. “Where’s that spontaneity, Sparky?”

You feel his cock flex against your walls; you jerk forward at the sensation, coming closer to the blank helmet. You don’t know how many minutes have trickled away since he took control of your body - you don’t know if there’s time.

Smooth leather runs over your ass, moving to the backs of your thighs and gently pushes up - he wants you to move. So, you do.

Your eyes fill with worry again, just like they did when he asked if you needed to be reminded.

“We won’t get away with this,” you state, slowly gliding up his throbbing length, contradicting your words. You don’t want to stop. You don’t want to be turned in. You want to stay here…with Mando seated deep inside you.

“He’ll kill you,” you continue mindlessly, easing yourself back down to his armoured thighs, letting out a gasp at how different he hits from this angle. He grunts in acknowledgment, helping you fuck himself into your ridiculously wet cunt - it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic of him to comment on how you’ve been wetter.

“I’d like to see him try,” he says. It’s gruff, not fully thought out - thrown out to protect his masculinity. 

Your head rolls back on your neck, hands interlocked with each other behind his helmet as you slowly build your pace. You opt for rolling your hips into his, grinding on his pulsing cock with desperation. 

His helmet falls to your chest with a content sigh, his breathing laboured with the occasional whimper when you reach the base of his cock, making you shudder with each pull forward. He holds onto your waist as if his life depends on it - it kind of does, as your momentum increases the more the pleasure builds.

You fuck yourself onto his cock harder. You feel him lift his helmet from your chest - you can breath easier. A confident hand wraps around the base of your skull, bringing your gaze from the ceiling back to him. He pulls your head forward until your forehead rests against his helmet - another kiss. 

He holds you there by the back of your neck as you look into the deep tint of the visor, searching for his eyes but finding impenetrable darkness. Your erratic pants hit against the helmet and fall to his already impressionable cock. 

A distinct drop of your hips makes you curse and sigh. The destructive pleasure in your abdomen and cunt makes your body convulse slightly.

“I-I know you’re close, sweet girl. Cum all over me, all over my cock—” He pants, lost and tangled in his own pleasure. You mindlessly nod your head, squeezing your eyes shut and biting down hard on your tongue. 

You try to focus on your breathing, your ears are ringing; white noise fills the room, but the dull clanking of the floor grating and unmistakable jingling breaks through the barrier, and it grows louder from beyond the door. 

At first, you think it’s the wind rushing through the cargo hold, but the wind doesn’t know how to open a closed durasteel door—

The whispy jingling continues; light footsteps accompany them, and you pull your head away from Mando’s when you see movement in your peripheral. Your head snaps to the open door. 

You tense, and not in the way you want to, when your eyes find the other threatening Mandalorian - this one standing only feet from you. 

The frantic rolling of your hips has stopped as you stare at Boba; your eyes are filled with fear as your body curls into Mando with embarrassment and terror.

Mando grunts. “W-why’d you stop?” He claws at your ribs, tipping his helmet up to your face. He sounds distressed; he was so close, frustrated that you would disobey him and cut off the increasing pressure in his cock.

You don’t think you hear him; your mind is in fight or flight - he immediately jerks his head when he sees the direction of your eye-line.

You feel his shoulders go rigid under your hold, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move any part of his body that fast. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest out of instinct while his cock is cradled in your cunt.

Boba cocks his head at the sight, a thumb comfortably hooked into his utility belt. He is disappointed, but not surprised in the slightest. You told Mando you wouldn’t get away with this. 

“What makes you think you can fuck my quarry?”


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a bounty is not something most are willing to do, so a deal must be made to settle the score.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: implied consent is present/given - but it can be interpreted as dub-con. please do not read if dubious consent makes you uncomfortable. this content is not for everyone and can be intense.

“What makes you think you can fuck my quarry?” 

It’s blunt. He tilts his head to one side, visor glinting in the moonlight that has creeped in. 

He doesn’t step any closer, leaving two stride lengths worth of space between you, worried that Mando might damage his goods if provoked.

Mando doesn’t answer; his breathing is shallow — he’s trying to be stoic, seeming unbothered. 

You can tell he’s trying to think of a way over and around this compromising position, but there isn’t one. 

“We made a deal. This—wasn’t part of it,” Boba explains, his tone raising in anger. His finger points at you as he speaks at Mando. 

The once very inviting spot on Mando’s lap doesn’t feel welcoming anymore. His cock hasn’t softened; it holds its form despite the distasteful interruption.

Mando finally refutes. 

“Not my problem. This was the only way she would let me have the intel,” you look back to him and your mouth drops open, insulted that he would use an excuse like that to save himself. 

You knock him upside the helmet — hard. It rattles his brain as he flinches slightly. He slowly floats his gaze back to you; you are absolutely fucked, in more ways than one currently.

The fury in your eyes makes his cock twitch inside you with excitement. He doesn’t look at Boba as he continues, letting his helmet leer at you. 

“And I actually don’t have what I need yet,” he states flatly, mostly to himself. The musical tone of realization in his voice makes your stomach drop with panic. 

He wouldn’t dare—

“I think you should get on all fours. Now.” your face hardens at the command, not interested in being the target for yet another reason. 

The mood shifts with that sentence, and Mando is almost shaking with vexation under you. The silence from Boba makes you forget he’s there — just for a moment.

You don’t attempt to move. 

“I won’t ask again.” He warns, lifting you from his lap; his cock no longer being warmed by your increasingly tight cunt. 

The air that swirls between your legs is cool against the plentiful amount of slick that has been fucked out of you. 

You shuffle on your knees in front of him, eyes flicking from the idle visor to his exposed length, coated and glistening from your wetness. 

He brings himself onto his haunches, cock bobbing gently with the movement, not even making a move to conceal himself. 

“Turn around.” It comes out muffled, distorted by the intense breaths coming through the vocoder.

You glance at Boba briefly before moving; he doesn’t object. He simply bows his head, almost encouraging you to do so — or trying to tell you to not even think about it.

You crawl into the position anyway, your head hanging low as your ass settles into Mando’s view. A smooth glove instantly caresses a cheek as you feel him shift himself closer; you can feel his stare on your deprived cunt.

Firm beskar bumps the back of your thighs. His right hand grips the base of his cock as he drags it through your swollen folds, purposefully swiping it over your clit. You clench your teeth, refusing to let Boba hear anything.

He gently slips the tip in — you sway forward at the intrusion, but two hands dig into the meat of your ass as he holds you in place, but pushing in no further.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Boba grits out. It cuts through the tension like a hot vibroblade. You sigh, exasperated and uneasy with having an extra observer. 

Mando’s impenetrable glare shifts from your used cunt to Boba. Their helmets hold a faithful scowl despite the lack of emoting. Mando lets his head loll to the side. 

“A deal is a deal. I’m getting my intel whether you’re here or not,” he spits, slowly pushing inside you at the same time out of spite, keeping his helmet trained on Boba’s. 

Boba tilts head warningly at him, seemingly ready to attack, as Mando fully sheathes himself again with a ceremonious hum.

“Perhaps I should alter the terms then,” Boba proposes with a sudden certainty, taking slow step towards your connected bodies; spurs rustling gently as he swiftly moves to the front of your submissive figure. 

Mando watches him intently until his helmet faces forward, the stillness of his movements mimic tracking a rather unlucky quarry. You bring your head up when grey boots and the dangerous teeth of his spurs step into your line of sight.

Your eyes trail up his legs, past the yellow knee-pads, over the protruding cod-piece, along his cuirass, and settle on his battered helmet that looms over you.

“I’ll let you get your intel, but only if I receive something on top of the credits from this…transaction,” Boba reasons, his gaze gliding over your still clothed back and up to an indignant Mando as he finishes the proposal.

There’s silence between the two for a moment, the only sound in the echoey room being your shaky breaths as you stare at the underside of Boba’s helmet; his jaw is exposed at this angle, but the skin is protected and covered by the shadows casted from the moonlight and rim of the helmet.

“Deal?” It’s a question, but there’s no room for a choice. Boba usually isn’t a negotiator, but there’s a fight to be fought against the brooding Mandalorian behind you.

Mando stays quiet; unusually quiet, and a little too long for Boba’s liking.

His cock suddenly shifts inside you as Boba bends over your vulnerable frame with skillful tempo, bringing Mando helmet-to-helmet; tugging him with a jarring force that makes him wobble on his knees behind you. 

He accidentally pulls Mando even deeper into your tortured cunt without even noticing. 

One of Mando’s hands presses down on your lower back to steady himself. You groan from the sudden fullness and duress; Boba’s legs frame your head as he grapples Mando by the cowl.

Mando’s other hand flies to Boba’s shoulder, his orange fingers wrapping around the braided trophies hanging from his pauldron, and he pulls him back with the same animosity out of instinct.

There’s a sonorous clang. You flinch at the sharp sound that rings throughout the room.

Their helmets meet with an unpleasant pitch, yet the beskar’s integrity remains unaffected from the blow.

You stay trapped between their powerful bodies as they push and pull at their armour.

Through erratic huffs, Boba speaks first. “I asked if we had a deal. I insist that you accept,” he snarls, sinking his teeth into Mando — holding him right where he wants him.

You hold your breath the entire time, afraid that the slightest movement will only make things more hostile, but that might not be possible now. 

Their ability of deliberately remaining still with ease results in meaningful movement — this is one of those moments that says more than words ever could describe. 

“Why should I?” Mando challenges, just as charged as his taller opposer.

Boba chuckles; a sound that always carries ominous intentions behind it.

“I think our friend should answer that,” he says, retracting his hand and helmet from a concerned Mando. 

You turn your head at the remark, forehead almost getting bumped by Boba’s calf as he moves himself back in front of you.

You look over your shoulder at Mando, impassive, and then back to Boba; bending your neck to glare up at him.

“Go on,” he encourages with a wave of his hand. You drop your head, eyes on the floor once again.

You huff. “He’ll kill you if you don’t,” you say dryly, not in the mood for theatrics. 

You know he’s serious; you’ve seen it happen before, and he wouldn’t lose anything from it either — quite the opposite.

Mando shifts on his knees, adjusting his cock in your very abundant arousal. The consistent stretch making you ache around him.

He runs his hands over your ass, down your thighs, and back up — thinking.

Mando let’s out a throaty hum. “As fun as that sounds,” he starts, seeming lenient towards refusing the offer, but you can tell it’s for show. You cringe at his daring choice of words.

“I accept.” He finishes abrasively, a heavy exhale leaving his chest. Boba makes a noise of satisfaction and settles to his knees briskly, his cod-piece dropping into view briefly as he adjusts his posture in front of you. 

His arm reaches over your shoulder; a scratchy glove pinches the fabric of your shirt and tugs it up the expanse of your back, pulling it over your head and down your arms. 

It’s tossed with the binders. Then he unclips your bra, gliding the straps over your shoulders and letting it fall to the ground; you toss it too.

Mando’s fingers harshly dig into your thigh as he watches Boba’s provocative movements; wound tight from the breathing nuisance at the other end of the cot.

A quick fist winds itself in your hair, jerking your head up and bringing your attention from the floor to Boba’s crotch — concealed and protected. You grunt at the discomfort your scalp feels, but you don’t argue.

Boba looks you over, watching the way your face tenses in pain as he jerks your head around to where he deems fit: staring directly at his hidden cock.

Your eyes flick up to meet his visor for a fleeting moment, and he supposedly stares back.

“Don’t be shy. I know you’ve done this many times, girl.” his condescending tone makes your throat tighten. 

As soon as you bring a hand to the first buckle of the cod-piece, Mando starts to hesitantly move in and out of you — trying to move things along discreetly. You clench your fingers into a fist from the returning jolts of pleasure, making you pause.

The harsh tug you give makes his hips sway forward, and the armour falls away and dangles off of his other hip.

“Thought you’d be better at that by now.” he quips — a genuine observation and a poor excuse to anger Mando further. 

Whether or not that’s what he intended, it works anyway — even though he stays silent; you can feel the way it pokes at him through his increasingly piercing thrusts.

Each second that passes as you undress Boba a little more, Mando’s hips hit your ass more forcefully than the last time. He rocks your body forward in choppy motions each time he connects; the heat in your core returns as you detach the final strap on the constricting cod-piece.

Boba’s hand leaves your hair, falling back to his side as you stare at the rather tight and tented fabric of his pants; his cock already yearning for release in more ways than one.

You bite back a teasing smile, trying to keep your composure neutral as Mando adjusts the angle of his hips and cock, purposefully doing so in the way he knows will make you become docile and limp within minutes. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out how to do it, either. Maybe half a day.

You swallow a whimper, turning it to an interested hum for Boba’s sake. But the slight fluttering of your eyes are caught easily by his hidden ones. 

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” you muse and raise a brow, dragging your eyes up from his protruding length to the sharp visor. 

Mando wraps his hands over your hips and starts pulling you back onto his cock smoothly at that remark, making the air in your lungs get caught as you’re dragged down and over him swiftly. 

Boba brings his hands up to his chest, undoing his gloves and plucking the fabric off each finger leisurely; the action mimicking someone preparing to give a harsh punishment — the precise motion inflicting dread the slower he goes. 

“Stop stalling,” he growls, throwing his gloves on the ground. 

You give him a crossed look. “O-or what?” You sigh out — the sound being partly from annoyance and partly from Mando’s cock catching in your cunt as he rocks you back at a steady rhythm.

He can’t kill you. You know that— he knows that.

“Do I have to remind you of Takodana?” Boba asks, voice filled with amusement as your face drops at the haunting yet fond memory.

Apparently— having your tongue down some dark-haired broad’s throat wasn’t the smartest thing to do while you two were…fucking, essentially. His tracking fob brought him to Takodana Castle, and the quarry happened to be the timid girl who was moaning into your mouth as you toyed with her two braids. 

You’re lucky; if he saw your hand down her pants— what he did afterwards would have been completely unforgiving. 

“Now…” He hooks a thumb in the waistband of his pants, pulling at the button with the other. As the fabric parts, he undoes the zipper, almost revealing the entirety of his clothed cock; its size both punishing and rewarding you’ve come to learn.

“Put that mouth to good use.” He drags a finger along your jaw, enticing you — luring you away from Mando’s grip.

The feigned irritation on your face conceals the blissful feeling in your cunt; Mando maintains a modest pace as Boba tries to hold your attention. 

Your fingers hook into the last layer separating your soft mouth from his throbbing length, and the material stretches away easily.

You pull down carefully, allowing his heavy cock to present itself — almost grazing your nose as it bounces from the much needed freedom. His breathing picks up, relieved and impatient. 

A drop of pre-cum glistens across the tip, the head flushed a deep red. He grips the base firmly with his thumb and forefinger, holding it steady for you as he leans his hips towards your mouth. 

You slant yourself closer, eager to lick the needy tip, but Mando quickly pulls you back and holds your hips in place again, keeping you immobile for him to use. 

Boba will have to work for what he wants. 

You shoot a glare over your shoulder and he cocks his head right back at you, offering a slow, precise thrust, making you whimper while he purposefully flaunts his power.

You ignore his hubristic attitude and turn back to grab Boba loosely, holding it steady as you pull him to meet your lips instead. He follows your direction, easily allowing you to swipe your tongue over the head while carefully pumping the rest of him — preparing to take him further. 

Mando shamelessly ruts into you harder the instant he sees your lips wrap around Boba, and you moan lightly around his cock as you’re pushed deeper onto it. 

You know they can both see everything they’re doing. Boba can see Mando bury himself in you and come out just a little more slick than before. Mando can see Boba disappear into your mouth and come out with spit all but dripping from him. 

Your fingers finally fall away from Boba when they’re easily replaced with your mouth. They unintentionally groan at the same time; Boba from your hot tongue, and Mando from your tight cunt.

Boba’s hands grab the sides of your head, using it as leverage to shove himself further down your throat as Mando continuously knocks you forward with each plunge back into your abused hole. 

“Mmm— that’s it. Take it all.” Boba praises as your nose brushes against the coarse hair on his stomach; his fingers snaking through your hair as you slide your tongue along the underside of him. 

Thankfully, he’s easier than Mando to take, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Your jaw burns, your neck aches, your lips are starting to go numb from the stretch, and your cunt throbs from the the constant brush of Mando deep throughout your stretched walls. 

It’s a sensory nightmare, but it feels strangely validating; you’re the only thing they have in common, and that can be a blessing or a curse. 

A small whine crawls up your throat and gets caught around Boba’s cock, which travels far over your tongue and occasionally grazes the back of your throat.

“Not much of a talker now, are you?” Mando pants lightly, the fabric of his pants hangs off of his hips and rubs harshly against your ass each time he sheathes himself. 

You choke slightly and moan when he says that, and you almost pull away from Boba, but he holds your head in place with a grunt.

They all but bend you in half with the jerky and uneven shoving of their hips. Mando knocks one of your knees farther out with his own, making your back arch as your stomach bends closer to the floor. 

Your shoulders strain as you try to keep your head level with the sloppy thrusts Boba so generously gives you. 

One of Boba’s hands quickly curls under your jaw when you start to slip around him, and he falls lower on his knees as he chases the feeling of your warm mouth. 

He comes to rest on his haunches when Mando presses a firm hand on your back, pushing you lower as he changes his rhythm to something more desperate and finalizing. 

He brings a knee up, plants his boot on the cot, and simply fucks you harder; pushing down against the ground to get more — the constant slap of his hips against your ass and thighs is the nail in the coffin. 

Your orgasm is only able to mount rapidly as he continues with gracious intent; which could be confused for frustration with the previous denial earlier, but you won’t complain. 

Mando slides himself into you with little effort needed, as if much could withstand the harsh rhythm anyway; your juices slowly building up around the base of him and spreading to the inside of your thighs each time he fills you.

“You’re close.” Mando observes, gently running his fingertips over your hips. 

He notices how you’ve tightened significantly around him, occasionally fluttering when he grazes over your skin with a feather-light touch.

You don’t make an attempt deny it. He can tell when you lie. They both can. 

You expected Boba to snap something back at him, but he remains passive, and you think you know why. The intent stroke of your tongue has made his shoulders shaky and thighs tense uncontrollably. You can feel how more pre-cum flows from the tip with each drag you take back. 

“Fuck—” You don’t think he meant for that to slip out. It’s a short pant that starts a string of unintelligible curses and deep breaths that would be worrisome in any other situation. 

Boba brings a rough hand to the back of your head. “You’re going to swallow all of it. Understand?” He growls.

You flick your eyes open to meet the opaque visor and gently shake your head ‘yes’. He mimics the motion and slowly lets his head roll back onto his shoulders — seemingly defeated by his own pleasure. 

You try to fend off your orgasm as much as you can, wanting your mouth to be unoccupied before you feel the need to bite down on your satisfaction. 

Unfortunately, Mando doesn’t know that. But one hard jut of his hips knocks you far enough down Boba’s cock to make him finish first with a tight gasp.

It’s sudden — the cum that pools on your tongue is just as hot as the cavern of your mouth. He lets out a deep, relieved groan as you continue to work him through it. 

You swallow around him a few times, letting what’s left make its way down your throat before he carefully pulls away from you. 

He slips from your lips, and not a drop of him escapes from your mouth.

You lift yourself back onto your hands again as you watch him rest back against the wall to compose himself. 

You observe him for a moment, fascinated by the unusual calm behaviour you will never get used to seeing. It never usually lasts long anyway.

Your eyes don’t want to stay open. Mando is all but fucking you into incapacitation, and your arms won’t be able to hold you up for much longer.

The quick build of pleasure in your abdomen and thighs is alarming. You find yourself unable to speak— unable to warn Mando.

Unknown to you, Boba watches very intently — enthralled in your bliss as his subsides. You forget he’s even in the same vicinity as you until he unexpectedly traces a finger along your bare shoulder.

You hardly feel it, but it’s the firm hand wrapping under your jaw that gets your attention. 

He roughly tilts your gaze up to his glowering one with a tight squeeze as he kneels in front of you again, no longer feeling the paralyzing effects of his orgasm.

Your fluttering eyes try to focus on him, but Mando maintains a rhythm that’s making you quiver unintentionally.

“Show me how good he makes you feel.” Boba says wickedly— but you catch the demeaning undertones. He’s ridiculing you. Playing with his food.

You can’t help but do what he says. Overwhelmed tears sting the corners of your eyes, and they can’t help but roll back at the sensation of Boba’s hand threatening your airway as Mando simultaneously finishes you both off with a relieved whimper. 

You gasp, choking on your own air as your body spasms over and over; Boba’s hand suddenly falls away from your throat, almost like he’s sickened by your response as you crumple into yourself slightly.

Mando keeps going, pushing his cum deeper into you until he goes soft, pulling out quickly after with a deep sigh. 

His hands carefully grip your sides and keep you steady as you shake and pant. When you lift your head again and focus your gaze, you notice Boba isn’t in front of you anymore…you didn’t even hear him move—

You look to the side hesitantly, he stands where your clothes were discarded earlier, and he’s perfectly put back together, cod-piece and all.

You notice him fiddling with the binders— you forgot about your current predicament. Boba isn’t one to forget about a job because of a simple distraction. You’ve tried that before, and it doesn’t work.

You still have to leave with one of them. It should be Boba; he is the one that caught you…but you’ve come to learn that Mando is unpredictable. 

And his shameless question still needs an answer.

You wonder if he forgot about it. You hope he did. He could’ve been messing with you for all you know, using it as a ploy to gain more than what he was asking— and he’s already gotten plenty.

“Interrogation’s over.” Boba says formally. It was directed at you, a prompt to not prolong the situation any longer than needed.

Mando’s at his side in a flash, perfectly composed and professional. It was eerie to see such a quick shift.

They mumble and whisper as your legs regain feeling. You carefully reach for your clothes, worried any sudden movement will startle them. You dress yourself slowly, not bothering to pay attention to their rather intimate conversation.

You don’t have to listen to know that Mando was negotiating something. What else would there be to talk about to your competition’s bounty sitting feet from you?

It’s your turn to watch them intently. Boba glances at you from time to time, and you can’t help but feel worried. 

Then there’s a break in the conversation.

“No.” Is all Boba says after a moment. It wasn’t aggressive. It was uncertain, shaky— two things Boba Fett is not.

Mando tips his head in your direction suggestively, trying to persuade him to say yes to whatever he was requesting. 

“I’m leaving you with your life, that should be plentiful.” Boba counters roughly, a sharp edge to his tone suggests the bargaining is over.

Boba turns to you then, coming to collect his prize as his spurs rustle aggressively. He grabs you by the arm and pulls you up, clamping the binders back into their rightful place around your wrists.

You stare at Mando as Boba secures you; he looks as he always does. Blank. He just watches silently. He clearly lost out on this one.

Boba pushes a hand against your back, leading you forward — out. You walk through the door without another word. There’s nothing left to say.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” Boba remarks as Mando follows behind, keeping a safe distance as you reluctantly descend to the bottom of the ramp. 

Sure, it was pleasurable, but it wasn’t a pleasure—

Mano stops at the entrance and leans against the frame as he did when you first saw him. 

You let your boots sink deep into the sand with each step that leads you farther away from your only way out of this.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: bxbafett  
> Please leave a comment if you had a good time! They bring me so much joy :)


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